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The
massive battle fleet of the Mearmexxan empire was preparing, as it
had done many times before, to completely exterminate another race.
Across the colossal swarm of ships, millions of soldiers readied
themselves for war, as the fleet raced towards the home-world of the
species that their queen had sworn to eradicate; A species that had
the audacity to violate the empire’s most sacred region of space
with a pornography-carrying probe. Queen Lukta’s planned
retribution for the crime was to be swift, massive and, above all,
final.

As
the
flagship of the fleet, the battleship ‘Temperance’,
led the way, as the massive armada sped through hyperspace. After
almost a year of travelling at beyond the speed of light, the fleet
was fast approaching its ultimate destination;
a small blue-green planet in a system situated in one of the outer
spirals of the galaxy.

It was, for the
most part, an unremarkable world, apart from one particularly strange
detail. All the evidence they had gathered, suggested that, on this
world, mammals had evolved further than insects. And it was one such
order of mammals, that had invoked the wrath of the queen, and
brought a death sentence upon their home-world.

As the queen’s
chief advisor, it was Armenn’s job to supervise the fleet as they
made their final preparations for the battle to come. He scuttled,
hurriedly onto the bridge of the temperance, as he went about the
task of collecting data for the queens next briefing. After checking
several view-plates around the huge, hexagonal chamber, he made his
way to one of the navigator stations.

“What is the
status of the fleet?” Armenn asked Navigator Clopp.

“All ships
operating at full efficiency, sir,” answered Clopp, “apart from
one of our hive ships. They encountered a technical hitch as they
manoeuvred into the wormhole.”

“What kind of
hitch?”

“Its shielding
failed as it passed the event horizon, causing an immediate implosion
with the loss of all claws.”

“I see,” said
Armenn, “How many fatalities?”

“Just over six
hundred thousand, Sir.” replied Clopp.

“Nothing too
serious, then?” Armenn remarked, “How long until we dropout of
hyperspace?”

“About a schlong
and a half, Sir.” said Clopp as he checked the view-plate in front
of him.

“And have all the
probes deployed successfully?”

“Yes sir, the data
streams are coming through now.”

The microdrones on
Clopp’s view-plate were busily swarming into columns of
information, their precise formations displaying letters and images,
before dissolving away a moment later, only to reform into fresh
data. Armenn watched intently as the drones started to shape
themselves into the reconnaissance report from the target system. The
report, strangely, was a lot shorter, than he had expected.

“That’s odd,”
said Armenn. “why is there so little signal data?”

“I don’t know,”
said Clopp, “the probes are currently holding orbit around the
fifth planet of the system. The scans show that it has a huge
magnetic field. Maybe the signals are being blocked,”

“Maybe,” said
Armenn, not entirely convinced by the suggestion, “Move the probes
to within scanning distance of their planet, there should be no
interference there.”

As he pondered over
the strange results of the scans, the massive figure of General
Parmett entered the bridge behind him. Parmett, was one of the
longest serving, and largest, of the warrior caste, had been tasked
with leading the ground assault. The clattering of her mammoth
armour, was all the chief advisor needed to alert him of her
formidable, and somewhat unwelcome, presence.

“You look
stressed, Armenn.” said the general as she approached Clopp’s
station, “is the prospect of going to war, getting to you?”

“Organising the
extinction of a species is no easy matter, general,” replied
Armenn, “monitoring the fleet is a full-time job, stocktaking the
munitions is a nightmare, and don’t even get me started on the
catering.”

“All you have to
do, chief advisor, is get us there,” snorted Parmett, “It’s me
and my soldiers who’ll be doing the real dirty work.”

Armenn gave an
unconvincing hum of agreement.

“Do we have any
intelligence about their defences, yet.” asked the general.

“We are just
waiting on a secondary scan,” said Armenn, “it should be through,
any moment.”

As they waited, the
general asked, “You’ve seen the aliens’ probe, right, Armenn?
What are they like?”

“Bloody ugly,”
he replied, still looking at the view-plate, “they’re a kind of
ape-like creature, but with hardly any fur. Imagine an upright monkey
with mange, and you won’t be a million miles away.”

“Hideous and
dumb,” scoffed the general, “Not exactly the best genetic
combination. It doesn’t sound like they will put up much of a
fight.”

“I hope not,”
said Armenn, “we really can scarcely afford another drawn-out
affair. the fleet is still understrength since we eradicated the
Alphardians. We lost over a quarter of our ships on that
campaign...bloody murder, it was. Still...at least there are no
Alphardians around to ever joke about the size of the queen’s
abdomen, again!”

As Armenn finished
speaking, a series of shrill chirps sounded out from the microdrones,
alerting the three, to another batch of incoming data. They
scrutinised the view-plate as the drones began to change pigment and
rearranged themselves, until they had reformed themselves into the
latest report from the probes. Whilst the results of the first report
had been surprising, to Armenn, the results of the second were
nothing short of dumb-founding.

“Good gods,”
said Armenn, puzzling over the information before him, “this can’t
be right...are you sure the data hasn’t become corrupted?”

Clopp started
rubbing his antennae together, causing the microdrones to swarm
around the plate, once again, before settling into banks of fresh
information.

After scanning the
view-plate for a couple of moments, Clopp replied, “The data is
clean, sir, all of the probes are functioning normally.”

“I’ve never seen
anything like it,” said the general, still staring in shock at the
view-plate, “the queen isn’t going to be happy about this.”

“I had better go
and tell her,” said Armenn.

“Good luck with
that,” said Parmett sympathetically.

“Thank you,
general...I think, I’m going to need it.” Said Armenn, as he
reluctantly started to scurry away.

It was a well-known
fact amongst members of the royal court that the queen, when
receiving bad news, tended to lose her temper. Often, the bearer of
such bad tidings, would become the focus of Lukta’s rage and be
eaten on the spot. This tendency had led courtiers to popularise the
phrase; ‘Don’t eat the messenger.”

For that reason, it
was with some trepidation, that Armenn made his way from the bridge
to the throne room. Although he was her most trusted advisor, he
wasn’t necessarily exempt from her bouts of rage...or, come to
that, her bouts of hunger.

When he reached the
throne room, he announced himself, then apprehensively waited for the
mammoth doors to open. Once the huge amber doors slid apart, Armenn,
scurried inside, bowing as low as he could, in reverence. He was not
prepared, however, for the sight that greeted him, when his lifted
his head.

The queen was
slumped on her throne busily devouring a male drone who had, only a
short time earlier, been her most recent romantic interest.

“Forgive me, my
queen,” said Armenn, as his carapace turning pink with
embarrassment, “I did not realise you had company.”

“It’s alright,
Armenn,” mumbled the queen, as she hurriedly swallowed the last of
her suitor’s limbs, “I’ve almost finished.”

Armenn scuttled
forward towards the giant plinth on which the throne, and the
majority Lukta’s titanic bulk were situated.

“How are the
battle preparations coming” asked the queen, as he approached.

“Well, that’s
the thing, my queen,” began Armenn, nervously, “It would seem
that there isn’t going to be a battle.”

“Whatever do you
mean Armenn?” snapped Queen Lukta, “Of course there’s going to
be a battle. I have decreed that the entire species be exterminated.”

“Of course, you
have, my most mountainous matriarch,” replied Armenn hurriedly,
“and your word is law, but there is one small matter which has come
to light...one that prevents us from executing this particular
order.”

“Oh, really,”
boomed the queen, “And what exactly is that?”

“They are already
dead, my queen,” said Armenn.

“They’re what?”
said Lukta in disbelief.

“Dead, my queen,”
he continued, “All of them...our scans indicate that the aliens’
planet is nothing more than a burnt-out husk, devoid of almost all
life...and the only transmissions we could detect were automated
signals from a claw-full of probes and satellites, probably centuries
old.”

“But what about
the probe that we found?”

“Tests results
show that it was anything up to a thousand years old,” replied
Armenn, “Our scans were unable to extrapolate the exact time of
extinction, but the data suggests that the planet was devastated no
more than two or three centuries after the probe was launched.”

“Understandable I
suppose,” said the queen, “those disgusting perverts probably
insulted half the galaxy before us. I’m not surprised somebody beat
us to it.”

“Oh, no, my
queen...you misunderstand,” said Armenn, “there is no evidence to
indicate that any other race was involved.”

There was a long and
uncomfortable silence, as the queen took a few moments to digest the
news, as well as her former lover. Then, to Armenn’s great relief,
the queen began to laugh. It began only as a slight snigger, but soon
escalated into thunderous, ground-shaking hysterics.

“So, what your
trying to tell me,” said the queen, as she tried to compose
herself, “is that we’ve travelled half-way across the galaxy to
wipe these creatures out, only to find the silly bastards have
already done it to themselves?”

“I’m afraid so,
my queen,” replied Armenn solemnly.

“You see Armenn,”
said Lukta, as she wiped the tears of laughter from her six eyes, “I
told you they were bloody idiots!”